Hit Me Down Sonny
by thebrightestfell
Summary: Soul Evans expects summer camp to be a boring, stubborn mistake made to outwit his parents. However, when he becomes the nemesis of the cute blonde who runs the girls' side of camp and best friends with the leader of the boys', a prank battle of the sexes breaks out and to the victor goes the bragging rights. But as he starts to develop feelings for the enemy things go awry...
1. Part 1

A big thanks to everyone who welcomed me into the Soul Eater fandom! Specifically earth-shines from tumblr. I'm a little late in my posting due to family issues and traveling, but the Reverb mods were kind enough to give me a few more days. Shout out to internetfeet from tumblr who created the art for this awesome camp au. I'll have links to earth-shines fic and internetfeet's art in my profile page and on my tumblr the-brightest-fell.

This is my contribution to Reverse Resbang 2015.

* * *

 **Part 1**

* * *

 _This is_ so _uncool_.

That is the first thought Soul Evans has when he lays eyes on his "home" for the next three weeks.

Initially, he believed the idea of twisting his parent's words into something they would disapprove of was a genius maneuver. Oh, how he had applauded himself. How he had patted himself on the back.

He had to go to summer camp, they said. He had the oppurtunity to pick whichever camp he wanted, they said. Yes, yes, they promised, they would send him to any camp he chose.

Course, they never imagined their stubborn, willful child would look up a camp with absolutely _no music program whatsoever_. But a deal was a deal and they had to deal with the fact that they paid for perhaps the one summer camp they'd never want him to attend.

And, oh, how Soul had congratulated himself. He was _so_ smart. He was _extra_ rebellious. If _this_ didn't make them re-think pushing the family lineage on him, then he honestly didn't know what else to do. Maybe break all his fingers? Chop off a hand?

Eh, he'd see what the summer brought him.

Of course, now that he and his elder brother, Wes, are pulling up to the DWMA campgrounds he is "slightly" wondering if he made a huge colossal mistake in summer camp choices. When he was younger Soul Evans had dreamed of being a normal child: playing in the mud, eating worms, going to school where there was a field day, trying out for sports, going to summer camp and "having fun," etc. But, instead, his childhood was filled with oppressive music teachers, attending privileged events since the ripe-old age of two (with a strict dress code; who the hell makes fine suits for toddlers?), and the ever-constant pressure of his two well-known muscian-esque parents and his extremely talented violinist of an older brother hanging over him. His summers usually consisted of several Charity Galas, many family concerts at stinky art museums, two or three piano teachers stopping by the house every other day, and Chopin.

Seriously, why was it always Chopin?

When he saw the oppurtunity for a somewhat "normal" summer experience he jumped at it. He literally googled "summer camps without music" and voila! DWMA was the first one on the list. A couple of clicks later and he was registered. Because who wouldn't want to play sand volleyball and water sports and, uh, theme nights?

Not that he has any idea what most of the things DWMA offered _are_ , but, he figures, it'll be better than an entire month dedicated to the strict standards of an overpriced music camp, right?

Well, he might been wrong…

His gut starts sinking the second Wes exits the highway and turns onto a lonesome road that disappears into the woods. A scene of green and brown, but really mostly green, almost physcially assaults his city eyes and he is left wondering if civilization can melt away _that_ quickly. The deeper they drive, the stranger he feels. Wes is cheery as ever, his shit-eating grin telling Soul that some type of humiliation or awkwardness is written in his summer destiny.

Now that he thinks about it, he never was super good at researching things. Maybe he was too desperate to escape music purgatory for the summer and jumped into a pit far worse.

What did he know about attending a regular summer camp?

Absolutely nothing, that's what. He hadn't even known what to pack!

When Wes veers off the already poorly constructed concrete road onto a sand/gravel hybrid, Soul thinks he's going to hyperventilate. How far do the woods go? What if they get stuck out here? Or, God forbid, what about _Jason_ or _big foot_? Isn't this their preferred hunting grounds?

Eventually signs begin appearing, popping out of the greenery like colorful flowers with cheery neon colors proclaiming "HEAD THIS WAY FOR AN AWESOME TIME!" and "IF YOU'RE LOOKIN' FOR DWMA, YOU'RE GOIN' THE RIGHT WAY!" Wes' smile widens and he makes some kind of sarcastic comment, but Soul's ears are ringing too loud for him to hear it in all it's "comedic" glory.

Their mother's once clean but now dusty black Benz joins a line of cars slowly being processed into the camp. At first it looks really weird because all of these cars vaporize out of thin air. Soul was almost positive that once they came this deep in the woods it'd turn into a Silent Hill-type thing and they'd never make it back to society. With the reappearing of proof of the outside world, Soul's thoughts then switch to a more logical avenue.

 _Holy hell, why are there so many_ people _here?_

It occurs to him the DWMA must be a very popular camp (it _was_ at the top of the Google list) and cabin slots had disappeared at a somewhat alarming rate.

"Business is booming!" Wes cackles. "Good thing you signed up when you did, hmm, Soulie?"

Soul gives him a non-committal grunt and waits. The churning of his stomach escalates. He thinks he's going to be sick.

They finally pull up to a wooden gate with a bright, waving banner strung across proclaiming boldly "DWMA WELCOMES YOU!" and two counselors with bright colored shirts on either side of the entrance to match. Wes rolls down the window and converses with one that instructs them where to park, who to talk to, and the name of the cabin "the camper" will be staying in. Soul doesn't hear much of the conversation because he's too busy staring in mute horror at the counselor on his side who is jumping up and down while screaming and waving at him. He can't tell if they are going for "I'm going to eat your brains" zombie-like enthusiasm or "Help! Call 911 I'm about to have a seizure." Once Wes proceeds forward, Soul grips his armrest and twists to face him.

"Turn the car around."

"Now, now, brother. Calm down. This place looks fun!" Wes grins at him, practically _vibrating_ with concealed laughter, as if he's watching the most hilarious thing he's ever seen. And, honestly, what's funnier than your loner, soft-spoken younger brother figuring out he accidentally signed himself up for his own personal hell?

"Wes. I'm serious. I will murder you and leave your body for campers to find on a hike if you don't. Turn. The. Car. Around. Pleaseeeeee. This was a mistake. I'm not cut out for this." They are directed by even _more_ smiling and waving colorful camp counselors squawking and dancing about like parrots into one of several fields that have become make-shift parking lots. Soul begins to see a horrifying reality and lunges forward with a hand pointed, voice high and hysterical. " _Everyone's wearing khaki!_ Wes, mom doesn't even let us _own_ khaki!"

Wes waves a hand off and takes a look himself, watching smiling campers exiting their cars and some greeting counselors with huge hugs like old friends. "Nuh uh. Those two girls are wearing those Nike work out shorts. So, not _everyone_ is wearing khaki."

"Wes," Soul whines. "You know what I mean. I'm wearing jeans. My only pair of jeans. I'm 16, never been to summer camp, and I've never known anyone who doesn't have absolute pitch! These people are going to think I'm a rich freak with my white hair and prestigious clothes!" The teenager sighs and hides his face in his hands.

"Please just turn the car around. I'll return with my tail between my legs and let mom and dad ship me off to Penn State or Julliard or whatever."

Wes shakes his head and opens his mouth, presumably to mention comfort or encouragement, but is interrupted by the rapping and tapping of a hand on Soul's window. The Evans brothers jump at the unknown sound until they lay eyes on a young blonde lady with a thousand-watt smile and an _eyepatch_ covering her left eye. Soul and Wes wordlessly wave and sit there dumbfounded. There's an odd staring contest between the two before the woman bites her lip and makes a dipping motion with her finger. Eventually, Wes connects the dots and rolls down Soul's window.

"Hiya! Soul Evans, right?"

The Evans exchange glances before Wes nods hesitantly.

"Wonderful!" The woman squeals and both brothers startle at her high, happy pitch. "I'm Marie! I'm one of the senior counselors here and I'm going to show you around and help label your luggage!"

There's another awkward eye contact-filled silence while Marie waits patiently. He takes his time, but Wes slips into his suave, smooth attitude and laughingly replies. He rolls up the window, exits the car, and chats amiably with Marie while Soul broods inside.

The keys are still in the ignition. If he locks the doors he could make a run for it…

Too late. Wes opens his door like the world's worst chauffeur and pulls his little brother out by the ear. Marie's smile cracks for a second as the younger snaps at the older and Wes laughs and easily murmurs, "Ah, teenagers! So feisty, aren't they?"

Soul straightens himself, mostly, and finally takes Marie's outstretched hand.

"Well, Soul, your brother tells me you're a bit apprehensive." Cue glare here. Marie watches with a single honey-brown eye, gold and glistening, as Wes winks and shrugs. "Well, let me be the first to assure you we here at the DWMA are all about camper support. We want _you_ to have the absolute best time possible this summer! And everyone that comes is _really_ super friendly. We have some first-time campers such as yourself, though many are 'repeat offenders,' shall we say, who have been coming since they were thirteen." At the cringe Soul makes, Marie shakes her hands hastily. "Not that that means they won't open up to you! Everyone here remembers what their first year was like and, I promise, you're going to have one of the best summers _ever_ here and you're going to make great friends!"

Soul nods noncommittally, partially because he feels a little patronized (doesn't this chick know he's 16?) and partially because his stomach is still a ball of twisted nerves. Wes unloads his name brand leather suitcase his father bought him for Christmas and Marie happily posts a piece of duct tape on it. With a permanent marker she scrawls "Evans, Soul Eater no. 1."

She turns to Soul and does her brighter-than-the-sun smile once more. "Now. Are you ready to go meet your bunkmates?"

He opens his mouth to say yes but instead pukes all over the woman's sneakers.

* * *

Soul is shuffled to the infirmary with Wes' cackling ringing in his ears. What makes matters worse is, as if to balance Wes' uncaring blasé attitude, Marie is overly sweet and maternal. _She_ apologizes after he upchucks his stomach contents and says it's not the first time it's happened to her. For some odd reason, this does not make him feel better. She also keeps one hand on his shoulder and one under his elbow as if her tiny self could carry his weight should he collapse or something as they hike to a semi-faraway building.

He is blushing redder than his eye color, he's sure of it, or redder than a tomato or whatever. He continually tries to wave off the entire incident but Marie insists on making an example of the camp's "services" and "hospitalities." He's sure some of it is for Wes' benefit (look, see here, your brother is sick and we will take care of him) but mostly he's pretty sure it's just how the lady with the golden smile is.

It's kind of nice knowing a stranger who isn't privy to his background information is caring for him because, well, she's a counselor and it's her job and that's who she is.

If the rest of the camp is full of counselors like Marie, he thinks he might actually make it through the summer, despite the fact he feels like a fish, not merely out of water, but in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

They're approaching the infirmary when a small girl exits, blonde pigtails swinging like pendulums over her shoulder. She notices them and her eyes widen. She scrambles forward and tries to negotiate herself into the situation but Soul is humiliated enough and won't let a _ten-year old_ carry him to a doctor. He shoves off Marie and pushes the chick away, hearing her feet stutter along the gravel walkway as she trips and an indignant, "Hey! Watch it!"

He murmurs, "Not my fault, chicken bone," lowly, but not so low she can't hear. And it isn't. S'not his fault she weighs, like, twenty pounds.

She scoffs and turns her attention to Marie, fanatically rambling something about Dr. Stein never doing his work or being present. She's placed the new medications and forms on his desk, she says, and if Marie needs anything she knows where to find her.

The one-eyed counselor joyfully sings her thanks and follows Soul as he stumbles into the one room shack with several empty, pristinely made cots and a small collection of desks in the corner. Behind them a doorless closet-pantry hybrid is filled to the brim with filing cabinets and shelves.

He settles onto the nearest cot, head swimming from the adrenaline rush rushing away, the after-vomit emptiness of his stomach, and the nauseating perfume of the place: Eau de too much hand sanitizer. His brother and the yellow-haired lady rush in where she explains where what is and who does what. The camp has one medical doctor, nurse practitioner, and two other med students staffed throughout the summer. Usually they are present at all times. Because today is the first day of a new camper set they are probably at the nearest town replenishing supplies.

She assures Wes she has some training, though his brother's constant guffawing and pursed lips tells Soul and Marie he's not super concerned, while she retrieves Soul some over the counter meds. He swallows them without complaint as she goes on about the sweet little pigtailed scrawny girl from before who is a "senior camper" and helps run the camp with the counselors. On the first day she assists the med students with recording allergies, medication, and retrieval of said medication as well as collect the OTC forms and emergency contact information.

Somewhere in the string of praises Soul is sure she mentions a name, but he's too aware and preoccupied with how shitty he feels, how terrible the first _hour_ of being at camp is, and how, chances are, he probably won't run into the youngin' while he's here considering she has to be a couple of grades lower than him.

Once his color returns to a more normal, healthy tan Wes gives him a look that he knows means he's leaving.

His older brother sits down next to him on the bed and they glance at each other from the corner of their eyes, speaking without words. Ms. Marie watches on curiously but kindly turns herself to the side to give them the semblance of privacy. Wes nudges him on the shoulder playfully before hugging Soul to his side and gingerly giving him a noogie. He messes with Soul's finely gelled hair while the younger yowls and hisses in a way an alley cat would be proud of before releasing him.

"I'll see ya in a couple weeks, yeah?"

Soul wants to say something. He's not sure whether it's along the lines of "Take me home" or "Don't leave me here" like he's a baby or whether it's more akin to their normal banter such as "See ya later, dweeb" or "Get out of here, silly brother! Camp is for kids!" The sudden knot in his throat makes him think twice though and instead of opening his mouth and making a mistake (again) he simply nods.

Wes smiles, a genuine "I love you, bro" smile, and shakes Marie's hand before walking out the door.

They sit in silence for a bit before Marie calmly asks, sunshiny face slightly muted, if he's ready to meet his bunkmates.

Soul follows the chipper counselor down the gravel road and past the fields that are currently pretending to be parking lots. Many of the cars are slowly exiting to travel the lonely road out of the woods a couple of passengers lighter.

They come across crossroads. Wooden hand painted signs are posted to a large log dug into the earth, each pointing to lead down some yellow-brick road except all of the paths here are paved in broken chalky gray rocks. He supposes he'll get used to the gravel, though occasionally he twists his ankles when the ground shifts unpleasantly beneath him. Marie somehow balances in her black sandals (her replacement shoes for the sneakers) delicately. In fact, as sweat drips down his neck, he wonders how she's so comfortable considering the lady is covered in black slacks and a mid-sleeve black t-shirt when he's sweltering in his red-collared shirt and baggy jeans.

The whistling lady confidently strolls down the road labeled "BOYS SIDE." As Soul passes the sign he notices beneath the clean blue paint a scrawling of brighter neon blue words. Something that looks like "OLYMPUS, HOME OF GODS" and a five-pointed star with the word "BLACK" underlined several times written in what looks like black Sharpie.

Soul wonders what moron would do that. Unless they were just testing the marker. That makes a lot more sense.

They walk probably half a mile when Soul notices a cluster of eight cabins rising out of the woods. They're decently-sized and look akin to townhouses or a two bedroom studio.

Each cabin, he sees, upon closer inspection has a small wooden porch wraparound and they're connected through these porches. One could conceivably start at the western-most cabin and walk through all of them until he got to the eastern-most. Pretty nice, interesting architecture. They also have different colored signs hanging above, each with a bizarre name he guesses adds to the "camp spirit feel" or whatever. He remembers, somewhat, something mentioned in the brochure, how ones cabin mates make up their team or family. Cabin teams compete against one another during "theme nights," though typically the games become boys versus girls from what he read.

Marie leads him to the two middle-most cabins, the one on the left labeled white-on-blue "THE LAGOONALOO" and the one on the right red-on-black simply named "EATERS."

He feels super uncomfortable when his tour guide gingerly skips up the wooden steps and presents him to the EATER cabin. Who the hell names these?

"Here ya go! Your home for the next three weeks! These boys are the oldest at camp, along with yourself, and many of them are 'repeat offenders' as we say. But don't worry! They're all very welcoming, I promise." She waits patiently for him though he doesn't know why. Soul is accustomed to being seen and not heard…well, unless he was seated at a piano. He's not quite sure how to respond so he just kinda grunts and nods.

It works. Marie's grin grows, her constant smiling continuing toimpress him (seriously, her cheeks must have the strength of steel), and she gently knocks a dainty fist on the closed cabin door twice.

"I'M HURRYIN'! I'M HURRYIN', SID! CALM THE FUCK DOWN!" A gruff, muffled voice yells from behind the dark wood.

The golden-haired lady's smile slips for a second as a small "Oh!" escapes her pursed lips. She glances over her shoulder at Soul who is privately refusing to climb the wooden steps unless he absolutely _has_ to. She chuckles nervously at him and, in a slightly stronger, more commanding tone than he would've thought she could produce, she replies.

"Black Star! It's Marie! You know the rules about _cursing_ on camp grounds, young man!"

A muffled "yeah, yeah" slips out before the door is swung wide open, banging loudly against the wall and causing both the counselor and the newbie to jump in surprise.

A teenage boy roughly Soul's age appears and he is the most interesting, startling human being Soul has ever seen. His hair is spiked into an awkward and probably uncomfortable three-pronged mohawk-gelled up hybrid and it's blue. Like, "it's a boy" blue. One might even go as far as to say baby neon blue. To add to the strange hairdo, the kid, who can't be older than seventeen (Soul knows, it said so in the brochure), is covered in scars, bruises, and a few well-placed tattoos, the most notable being a five-pointed star in edgy black ink on his right shoulder—the same star written on the sign calling the boy's side of camp Olympus.

Deep green eyes, eyes that could melt into the surrounding forest like their owner was no more than a ghost, stare pointedly at Marie before flicking Soul's way and back. He leans nonchalantly against the door frame and crosses his arms and legs.

"Sid told everyone to help," He raises gloved hands to float quotation marks, "'assimilate' the younger campers or whatever. I stayed to help tidy up and make sure the plumbing in the Lagoonaloo is running fine after those so-called," Air quotes once more, "'experts' fuc-I mean, _messed_ it up. What's up, Marie?"

"Ah. So no one is present. I see." Marie sits with her brows slightly smooshed together, a more pensive instead of friendly look settling on her face, before she snaps her fingers excitedly. She waves at Soul and he, with a sigh, slowly clomps up the rickety wooden boards.

The closer he gets the more "Black Star" (whatever kind of name _that_ is) openly appraises him, eyes flashing from his natural white hair and maroon droopy eyes to his collared shirt and dark blue jeans. Marie looks at Soul expectantly and it's a tone of face he's, unfortunately, not new to.

He extends one hand with a barely repressed eye-roll and slurs, "Soul."

The boy watches him for a bit before cracking the randomest and kindest smile. It changes his entire persona from badass kickass to boyish dumbass with blue hair.

"DUDE!" He shakes Soul's hand emphatically, eyes practically sparking with some kind of insane excitement. Soul finds that the spark is somewhat contagious or, at the very least, not so nerve-wracking. "Black Star! Put 'er there, man!" Black Star returns to a comfortable lean though his smile never once dims. Maybe it's something in the water here what with Marie, the one-eyed gorgeous blonde counselor, and now this tatted-up, blue-haired Black Star. Maybe Soul will learn to smile at this crazy camp, too.

"Bro. Your name is _sick._ We've been talking about it for the entire day. Your nickname is totally gonna be Soul Eater!" He extends a fist that Soul quickly bumps. "Represent, yo."

The teen grins at Marie and says haughtily, "I got this, Marie." She nods and promises to see them both at dinner tonight before making her way back up the gravel path.

As she disappears in the distance, Black Star steps back and welcomes Soul into the cabin, showing which bunk is his and where his stuff was placed. They talk for a couple of minutes, Black Star mostly giving the other boy a rundown of how the camp works, and they soon learn they have similar taste in, well, almost everything. With this discovery Black Star mentions he's super glad now he called the "newbie" to share a bunk with him, which Soul finds is one of the best things he's ever heard. At the end of the impromptu tour, consisting of many hand motions and cuss words, Black Star shrugs.

"Anyways, welcome to the Eaters, Soul. Uh, by the way…you wanna borrow some b-ball shorts? It's hotter than Scarlett Johansson's ass outside."

Soul recalls the spark from Black Star's warm smile and a small fire settles in his gut and along his chest.

Maybe this summer camp stuff won't be so bad after all.

* * *

Dinner and every other meal, according to Black Star, is held in a large banquet hall, the biggest building in the entirety of the campgrounds, which apparently spans (insert large acreage here). It, too, has a sign and a bizarre name. White-on-red proclaims the huge structure as the DWMA "Bloody Mess" Hall.

Black Star reads it with a sinister charm and raised eyebrows. Soul hopes the owner of the camp is British.

They enter and the white-haired teenager prepares himself for the stares and the snickers. Sometimes he thinks that he should be used to it after encountering such attention his entire life, but he's not. It still makes his spine tingle to know so many people who don't know a damn _thing_ about him get to judge or create assumptions without speaking a word to him. Hell, usually, he doesn't even get a second fucking glance.

Inside there are tables spread out from north to south. To the west is a well-constructed stage that obviously can be viewed from any area in the dining room. To the east several tables and heaters are artfully set up to act as a type of buffet-style food system. Black Star mentions they're lucky they came in a little late since there's hardly a line.

First, he tugs on Soul's black wife-beater (a gift from Black Star along with ten other clothing items to borrow for the summer) and begins to weave his way between the evenly spaced out tables with a delicacy and balance that speaks volumes to the many years he's been at this camp. Soul inspects the tables they pass and grins at the creative names for the cabins at this place.

"Eaters" doesn't sound so bad after perusing a couple of the younger cabins.

Finally, Black Star halts at a black clothed table with the quickly-becoming-familiar cherry red EATERS sign, designed to look like its written in blood. Five other boys lounge at ease in their chairs with semi-clean plates settled in front of them. They adjust their postures as Black Star approaches, all except one whose back is already straight as a rod, and watch Soul follow in his shadow.

There's a silence and the longer it's held the worse Soul feels. There's that bubbling in his stomach that tells him he might not be eating much tonight. Or, at least, that his stomach would be safer _without_ ammunition to projectile vomit on someone later.

But suddenly, like a wave breaking against the shore, the guys simultaneously laugh and one gets up to raucously slap his back and jokingly pull him into a hug. A loud chorus of "Brother from another mother" is chanted as he and Black Star settle in. And then the introductions begin.

The boy to the right of him that broke his awkward feelings with an equally awkward destruction of personal boundaries is Kilik. He nods, his braided hair bobbing along with the motion of his head. He offers Soul a peace sign and a somehow both cheesy and mischievious full-teethed smile.

Then it just becomes a procession line where each teen introduces the kid to this right.

Kilik names Harvar who calls the next Ox (who has an even weirder look about him than Black Star which is something Soul thought he'd never see) who then introduces the straight-backed boy as Kid. At first Soul considers it a type of joke, but when Kid bows his head in greeting, white lines sashaying in his raven black hair, Soul decides the best thing to do at this campground for weirdos (which he, admittedly, fits in at) is to just go with the flow.

They banter for a while and Soul learns Kilik is a "musician" like him, though he doesn't mention that information. Harvar is calm, cool, and collected and dressed in all black with dark, impenetrable sunglasses even though they're inside. Soul peers at him out of the corner of his eyes occasionally because he can't help imagining him as a young Van Helsing or something.

Kid is an OCD freak, according to Black Star, though Soul isn't sure the word "freak" is necessary (plus how can he point the finger? The kid nicknamed _himself_ , first of all, and second, chose _Black_ _Star_ ). Kid waves it off as if he's heard it all before and goes back to arranging the silverware into symmetrical patterns. Black Star whisper-warns that Soul hasn't seen anything yet and something about Kid's stiff posture and semi-formal attire does persuade him there's probable cause for alarm.

He sits and observes the interactions instead of participating since he's a stick-your-tippy-toes-into-cold-water-rather-than-plunge-in-headfirst kind of guy. He laughs, sometimes too hard, choking and wheezing because despite the fact these characters are sorta odd, they match his type of sarcastic humor perfectly.

Well, except for Ox, who seems to enjoy those clever, smart jokes that go over practically everyone else's heads. He is pleasantly surprised to find out that Harvar is a "pun" type of comedian…and his bored straight face only makes the ridiculous phrases that much funnier. Kilik and Black Star tend to tune into this weird half gibberish/half rap battle frequency where all of the sudden they will diss each other back to back, neither one pausing for breath. It's a dance of word play that is sometimes so complex Soul can hardly follow along. He is slightly shocked Black Star can accurately match or, hell, even understand some of the syllables that pour out of his and Kilik's mouths.

They don't last long, though, because one (or usually both) mess up or trip over their tongues, giving victory to whichever one fucked up the least. It lined up with proper British war tactics: stand still and be shot at; pray your enemy dies from bullet wounds before you do.

Soul forgets his awkwardness. It drips down his back carelessly like melted candle wax and disappears into the ether as he is accepted into the fold. Black Star is somehow the proverbial shepherd (as bizarre a teenager as he is) and Soul is the lost sheep welcomed to a place he never thought existed. Sure, he's had friends, other pretentious, prodigious rich kids like him who were both pinatas filled to the brim with social etiquette and pariahs who couldn't actually communicate with one another except through meaningless small talk. But this felt…different. New.

And real.

After effortless chatter, Black Star rises with a stretch and a wide, open-mouthed yawn. "Come on, broski. Let's see what's left to eat. Or are you, like, not hungry after today?"

Soul pushes his falling hair out of his eyes for the upteenth time and awkwardly shuffles out of his seat, not accustomed to tables and chairs so close together. So much for twenty-four hour "look great doing _anything_ " and "this is what the movie stars use!" hair gel. He's not completely sure how he'll survive his stay at the DWMA if his long, thick locks of albino love won't stay put.

He glances at Black Star's outrageously blue and stiff as a board hairstyle and wonders what secrets the thing holds…

But then, what he's quickly finding out about Black Star is you might not want to know the answers to his secrets.

Black Star is waving and high-fiving people as they squeeze through the multitude of tables all colorful labeled with some bizarre, but often humorous name. Soul's beginning to realize why the dude calls himself a god. He knows everyone and everyone knows him. Plus, from a newcomer like Soul's point of view, it's easy to confuse popularity with adoration as greetings are yelled across the room and threats interspersed with laughter are given by everyone that demands Black Star's attention.

And, adoration and "worship" apparently mean the same thing to the star.

By the time they reach the buffet tables it is obvious the place is wiped clean. With the exception of a couple of cold hot dogs and some vegetables, the food is near non-existent. Black Star snorts and stacks whatever he can on his plate, not really caring what he eats it seems. Soul is a bit more on the pickier side, though, honestly he's been known to devour whatever is near him. He is a teenage boy after all, still growing and what not.

Black Star promises they'll get better choices later on, that the first day is always kind of hectic and, due to some supernatural reason dealing with a possible camp curse, the food stores always run empty.

"But _only_ on day one." Black Star assures him. "Every other day older cabins typically get seniority. Mostly because we don't have to follow those rigid schedules they enforce on the kiddies, so we can come eat when we want. We were late tonight and, therefore, must suffer the consequences of being too awesome to eat the same food as the plebs."

Soul settles for a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup and one of the hot dogs that Black Star graciously passes to him. There aren't any buns left, however, so the naked weenie rolls around anxiously on his disposable paper plate. Somehow it reminds him of looking in a mirror.

He is fixing to follow his "leader" back into the throng when he smells the most delicious thing ever. The teenager snaps his head to the right and sees _it_. A single, luscious blueberry muffin sitting alone in the bread basket like manna sent from Heaven. Soul thinks he hears angels singing dimly in the background as he drifts to the muffin. Blueberry is his favorite, a treat his mom creates for him to help alleviate the anxiety of his worst days.

It's a sign from God that there happens to be one left for him when everything else is gone from the plague of hungry adolescents.

He's had a rough day. This is the universe's gift. Karma and stuff. He did his best to be good and now he's got a great cabin and a blueberry muffin. All is right with the world.

Until his hand closes around skin instead of fluffy muffin-y goodness.

Like suddenly waking up from a fairly good dream, Soul notices his body is awfully close to another. He glances downward and finds eyes the color of the green chrysanthemums his mom plants in the window-box outside his room. Only they don't appear as soft and sweet as the flowers do. The eyes are hard as marbles and are framed by silvery, thin eyebrows hunched angrily together. The ferocity of such a gaze has him reeling for a second before the testosterone kicks in. Why is _she_ mad? She's the muffin stealer!

"Uh, do you mind? Your hand is kind of in the way of my muffin."

Blondie jerks her head back an inch and pouts. "Excuse me? You're the one who's breathing down my neck while I was grabbing _my_ muffin."

Soul suddenly recognizes pigtails from earlier and is startled to see that, upon closer inspection, the tiny girl he had shoved near the infirmary is _not_ ten years old.

Or, at the very least, an extremely early-blooming ten year old. Her boobs are small and perky but they are definitely, very _there_ pressed against his forearm.

Plus, in his experience, ten year old girls don't boldly snatch muffins under the noses of white-haired, red-eyed brooding giants such as himself. He snorts and his grip over her hand, and, most importantly, on the muffin tightens.

"Look here. I've had a rough day, shortstack, and this muffin is gonna make me feel better. So, if you wouldn't mind…please. Let. Go."

Her face puckers at the nickname and he kind of freaks out momentarily because he's pretty sure _she just growled at him_.

"Oh, gee, how original. I'm short and you noticed! Wow. Good for you. A plus on your ability to use depth perception." Her lips twitch into something that could be called a smile, except it doesn't look happy or non-threatening. In fact, it kind of reminds Soul of the Other Mother from Coraline and he's beginning to wonder what sort of battle he's gotten himself into.

He's about to step back slowly and run for his life when he gets another whiff of the muffin and his resolve hardens.

They stand there, awkwardly near each other, _too_ near in fact for teenagers (where are the counselors and why are they not intervening here?), and coldly stare at the other.

"I'm not letting go of this muffin."

"Yeah, well, neither am I!" She huffs, her furious, heated exhales causing his neck to sweat.

He is about to retort when her face contorts into pure shock and she wordlessly points a finger behind him. Soul whips around, quick as an arrow, and yelps when he feels her clammy hand slip from his grasp. He tries to reach for his little piece of baked goods Heaven but it is too late.

When he turns back around, Pigtails happily takes a huge bite out of her blueberry muffin, not even caring that she shoved half the damn thing in her mouth.

She mumbles something that sounds both like gloating and muffin-y deliciousness and Soul's shoulders slump as he practically snarls at the she-devil.

"That was _so_ not cool! How childish can you be?"

She swallows noisily and chomps a smaller, more size-appropriate nibble, rolling her eyes. "Um, I don't know what you think you were doing, but I'm pretty sure we were both standing here playing Don't Blink over a muffin. I saw a chance and I took it. Not my fault you fell for it." She pauses her chewing momentarily. "Eh, well, actually I guess it was."

Soul isn't sure whether he's about to shout something clever or slap the muffin out of her dainty hand and stomp it into the ground when he hears Black Star holler behind him.

"Duuuuuuuude! Maka! That was so cold!"

'Maka' startles and guiltily brushes crumbs away from her mouth. "Black Star! I never would've expected _you'd_ be late for dinner."

Black Star balances his plate expertly on one hand and throws his other arm around Soul's shoulder. "Yeah, never mind that! Why are you messing with my newest follower, huh? Guy's first day at camp isn't bad enough so you gotta steal a bro's muffin?"

Maka is joined by a couple of girls, two blonde and one dark-haired, from a table nearby that Soul notices is black and gold. "REAPERS" is written in a creative part-steampunk, part-scythe blade calligraphy. The taller of the blondes asks what's going on, a no-nonsense tone and daring blue ice chips directed his and Black Star's way.

"Maka's being kind of bitchy to the new guy, that's all." Black Star answers.

Ice Chips raises her eyebrows unconvinced as Maka squeals her indignation. "Did not! I grabbed the muffin first! _He_ was the one all slumped up against me. Kind of pervy-sounding, isn't it?"

"It was not and you know it! I'm no perv!" Soul throws in, though he doesn't really think he needs to defend himself on that one. If anyone had witnessed him and Pigtails (he refuses to call her by name) staring each other down, they would've seen there was nothing sexual or perverse about it!

Black Star clucks his tongue in disapproval. "For shame, Maks. I wouldn't have suspected you to stoop to something so low."

Maka rolls her eyes and dismissively waves a hand. "Whatever. I won the muffin fair and square and that's all that matters. It's gone and done now."

With that the girls disperse back to their table. Maka and Soul give each other one last sneer before she is pulled into conversation by the dark-haired beauty beside her and Black Star steers his upset partner back to the EATERS table.

When they settle into their seats, Soul viciously tears into his cold hot dog and chews morosely as he dreams of sugary, sweet baked blueberry yumminess. The other boys glance at him and before he can get a word in Black Star tells the story (with a few embellishments, of course). The blue-haired teen leans forward and most of the cabin leans in with him, Soul watching on nervously and Kid seeming disinterested.

"Maka and the Reapers think it's over just because she got to eat the muffin, but it's not. Come on, bros! We gotta back a fellow brother! We can't let the girls already start pushing us around on the first day of camp. So we all know what this means, right?"

The other boys nod and shit-eating grins Soul's brother would admire split their lips.

"Oh god, not again." Kid groans and Soul wonders what in the world is happening.

Whispered in unison in one of the creepiest ways imaginable, like summoning some summer camp demon of reckoning, are the words "Prank War."

* * *

Soul is somewhat proud, but not as much as he thought he would be when he sees the three blondes the next morning standing frozen in front of the flagpole, slack-jawed. Maka, with the same expression she used to trick Soul, points in shock and awe at the colorful bras flying in the wind, brighter and more profound than any standard his teenage mind has seen.

Black Star cackles as the girls whirl around to view the EATERS boys shrugging their innocence along with the rest as the counselors question the crowd of campers. Maka and Soul lock eyes with one another and he isn't surprised to see the teeny ash blonde mouth the words "This isn't over," her red face more like natural war paint than an embarrassed blush.

He gives her a charming smile and turns around, letting her have a good look at the blood red lettering Black Star helped him put on the back of most of his t-shirts.

 _Soul Eater._


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

* * *

The next few days pass without incident, which is weird because the boys expected a swift and terrible retaliation. Prank wars are common, apparently, what with teenagers and minimal supervision. According to Kid, they mostly last a week or two before one or both parties give up and focus on having fun.

Somehow instead of this being comforting, it's nerve-wracking. Soul is a basket case, peering over his shoulder every time he has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. His other cabin mates, except for Ox, are totally carefree and nonchalant on the issue, poking fun at the noob for being so paranoid. The girls have always lacked in Prank Wars, Kilik recalls. Never willing to go the limit.

Ox, however, reminds them that Maka has never participated before, finding pranks childish and immature. Or lacking finesse. He grudgingly admits that she's of the same intelligence he is and, with her competitive ambitious nature, leads to a different type of threat. Add in the rest of the Reapers cabin…and they're in for _something_ for sure.

The Reapers, Soul found out during the week, consisted of four girls who had roomed together since they were twelve. The Thompson twins, the two blondes Soul saw with Maka at the flagpole, joined their numbers last year and were responsible for messing up the plumbing in the Lagoonaloo after Black Star said girls couldn't do much damage. The boys to this day aren't really sure what they did, but Ox hypothesizes toilet bombs were involved.

Stranger still, the two girls are the adopted sisters of Kid whose dad owns and operates the camp. Soul is not happy when he discovers Kid's father isn't British in the slightest and his mind dreams of horrid reasons for why the dining building is called the Bloody Mess.

But, despite the threat of teenage female angst and hatred hanging over his head, Soul enjoys himself. He's gone tubing and practiced archery. He's learned how to kayak and canoe and the best way to make someone soar off the Blob, a huge striped floating monstrosity where the point is to sit near the edge and have someone jump at the other end to blast you into the air before you fall to the water.

Yes, Soul is glad that he came to the DWMA. And, though, he's apprehensive at first, he follows his cabin's lead and settles into the eldest group of campers which includes the Reapers cabin.

The twins are Liz and Patti, sports enthusiasts who used to attend intense athletic summer programs. They have aggressive sand volleyball tactics and vicious serves. Soul should know. He suffered a ball to the face after Liz winked and promised her own personal revenge for the bra incident. Patti, the younger, also enacted her version of payback when he got a spike to the ass in the same game. Luckily, Black Star walked away with quite a few bumps and bruises, too, which didn't make him feel as bad about his injuries.

All's fair in summer love and prank wars, so they say.

Speaking of summer love, in the Reapers cabin there is Black Star's own personal hubris, the raven-haired beauty named Tsubaki. Soul personally thinks she is the calmest teenage girl he's ever met. Tsubaki is peaceful and demure with a sweet smile and a welcoming personality. She makes him feel at home and, even though they're currently in a prank war, she commands peace between the boys and the girls in the name of summer camp spirit.

And people respect it.

Kim and Jackie are two inseparable best friends that have a knack for finding trouble and starting rumors. Or Soul thinks they're friends at first only to watch stunned as Kim gently pecks Jackie's lips after the tan, yellow-eyed girl brings her favorite ice cream to her once volleyball ended one day. Black Star snickers at his expression and elbows him in the ribs before he can make a fool out of himself. Personally, Soul's a little jealous. How awesome would it be to hang out and sleep over with the one you love without breaking any camp "boundary" rules? He's never been a guy who cares much about other people's love lives and neither was he one to nastily stare and think of lesbians as "super hot chicks." Kim is a little snarky for his taste but he, Jackie, and Kilik have intense musical discussions so he tolerates the bubblegum-chewing, pink-haired hipster always near the Pocahontas-esque Jaqueline.

Well, and Kim is a master storyteller. That also makes her tolerable and fun to be around. She's the one who has all of the best rumors and "do's and don'ts" of the camp.

Maka refuses to speak with him, the only girl he doesn't know much about except from eavesdropped conversations and honorable mentions. From what he can figure, she's smart and clever, though that he could tell from their first interaction. And she's a colossal nerd. She reads typically early in the morning, during their free time, and before the girls' hot counselor, Blair, calls lights out. So, basically, all the time. A day hasn't passed without the lithe dirty blonde carrying a book in her bag along with a personal med kit, a map, a camp schedule, a compass, and an always full water bottle.

The groups are gathered on the dock together, eating popsicles after the theme night, which consisted of a boot camp type obstacle course complete with a mud crawl. Soul isn't comfortable with his shirt sticking to his skin and mud caked from his nose to his ankles, but he's listening to Kim prattle on about the horrors of Dr. Stein, the camp's M.D. The younger campers are quiet as mice and unmoving, trapped in her undead scientist tale. Occasionally Black Star or Harvar howl into the night and everyone jumps while they high-five, but other than that there's no sound except for the crickets.

"They say he was searching for the secret to an immortal life, but…his experiment went wrong." Kim eerily whispers, speaking soft enough to give an air of mystery yet loud enough for the crowd to clearly hear everyone haunted word. Jackie to her right creepily adds sound effects. Soul never knew campfire stories could actually be _scary_. He himself pictures the time he ran into the scarred doctor with his gray, almost mechanical eyes evaluating him like a cat considering to pounce on a wounded bird. The guy gave him the _major_ heebie-jeebies, which only made Kim's story more believable.

"Instead of rejuvenating his body, his machine _ripped_ the doctor in two! But, so bent on immortality was our dear Dr. Stein, the two halves of his body sewed himself together…and now he can live forever, but not as he once was. Now he is an undead machine, a body with hardly any shred of humanity left, doomed to wander the world searching for some way to bring his soul back to himself."

Kim shrugs and leans back effortlessly, almost as if she was commenting about the weather, to admire her handiwork and raptured audience. "And since he's a machine he likes to pose as a doctor because doctor's can be all analytical and logical and stuff without people suspecting anything. Plus, everyone knows kids are the best things to experiment on if you're searching for immortality since we age so fast and so slow at the same time. And he and Kid's dad have a deal. No one knows what the DWMA stands for…except for Dr. Stein. He's allowed to keep any camper who dares to ask him why the camp is named what it's named."

One brave camper yells, "Bull!"

"Nuh uh. She's not lying." Maka joins in. Soul can't believe she's pouring fuel on the fire. He would've thought her no-nonsense, follow-the-rules self wouldn't agree with falsified tales about counselors. Guess not. "One year, when I was twelve, an older camper thought it would be funny to prove the rumors wrong. So…he went up to the infirmary one night and…never came back. And then, last year, a newbie dared a repeat offender to go up there and, because it was a summer camp dare, he did it…his parents came the next day because he was reported missing. They never found him. 'Member that, Tsu?"

Tsubaki sagely nodded her head, violet eyes glowing in the moonlight.

Half the kids looked like they were gonna piss their pants.

Soul is a little ashamed when he realizes he might be one of those kids. Forget Big Foot and Jason….Dr. Stein is the _true_ summer camp nightmare.

The walk back to the cabins reminds him of how worn out he is and how grand it'll be to slip into dreamless sleep on his small, but comfortable cot. Until Sid, their buff and used-to-be-a-Marine counselor, stops them at the stairs.

"Alright, boys. Hit the showers!"

The Eaters moan in unison, a chorus of angry, sleep-deprived pigeons cooing their distress. Black Star argues quite a bit (the perks of having your foster parent work at the summer camp Soul guesses) but in the end the muscled man insists they shower before they climb into their bunks for the night. And you can't argue with Sid who's built like a tank and is steady as a rock. Though Black Star halfheartedly threatens a revolt, everyone, including the 'god,' can tell Sid would knock them all down with one hand. An elephant swatting flies full of teenage attitude. So, they exhaustedly stumble into the Lagoonaloo to quickly shower and get to bed.

At first, no one notices anything wrong. They are showering and the water is hot, but something feels…off. It isn't until Harvar begins yelling curses a sailor wouldn't dream of that they uncover the problem. Kilik flips on all the lights and there, covering their bodies and dripping from the shower heads, is bright, sticky _red_ water.

"What the ever-lovin' fu-" Soul yelps, exiting the stream and patting himself down as best as he can, seeing his white towel hastily turn pink with dismay.

They gape at one another, wordlessly asking the same question. Soul's stomach twists with primal anger as he reaches a conclusion. Based on the other boys' expressions, he bets they blame the girls as well.

"I told you this would go too far," Kid whines. "Why can't we just follow the rules and have a good, peaceful _relaxing_ summer."

It is after this comment that Ox hops to the bathroom to check if the sink water is running red as well, hoping there's an issue with the plumbing instead of the girls getting them this good. The next second he is near the stalls screaming something about periods.

He practically teleports back and waves a used pad (ew, disgusting) in his left hand, blood drained from his face.

"They put _used pads_ in the water! Oh. My. Gawd!"

Chaos explodes in the Lagoonaloo in the late hours of the night as the boys scream bloody murder and begin hauling ass out of the bath house alternately yelling profanities and whining about how disgusting they feel. The worst part is they can't even fucking shower now.

Soul and Black Star are the only ones left. The white-haired teen blinks hoping to clear his vision of the unbelievable image. But, nope. Black Star is still standing in the red spray, his face twisted in a ghastly, depraved smile.

"…Black Star? Um, what are you doing?" As soon as the interrogative leaves his mouth, he knows he doesn't want an answer. However, Black Star is not one to pass up an oppurtunity to talk about himself and explain his actions.

The crazy teen doesn't disappoint.

"I'm bathing in the blood of my enemies! I will take their strength, like the Aztecs did, and they will pay dearly for this slight on Olympus." With that, Black Star throws his head backwards to laugh maniacally while Soul sniffs at his towel, a familiar scent invading his nostrils.

"Dude, I think it's just Koolaid…"

And Koolaid it was. Powdered Koolaid packed tightly behind the shower heads. They can't bathe for two days after the fact, the showers running day and night to wash out and dissolve the sweet sugar crystals.

Soul can't help thinking the price of a blueberry muffin is too damn high.

* * *

His worst day at camp ends up leading to his best, though he doesn't realize it at first.

The worst day starts with sticky clothes and more bug bites than he can count. In addition to this rough beginning, Black Star can't handle Liz's harsh gloating and decides the way to show her who's boss is to throw scrambled eggs at her smug face.

Admittedly, Soul thinks it's an excellent "ha ha, he got you" moment at the time until the incident mega-morphs into the biggest food fight he's ever seen. Honestly, it followed the teen movie-size standard.

And then he and Ms. Perfect Pigtails get blamed for the whole ordeal. Their punishment? To clean up the Bloody Mess hall.

Together. Which is worse than if Soul had been told to scrub it spotless by his lonesome.

It's been thirty minutes and the girl continues to uphold her refusal to talk with him. It's especially irritating because he's trying to ask questions about the cleaning such as where are the mops, where do we get the paper towels, where does the trash go, etc. Maka pointedly ignores him, excavating food from the dirty floor and walls at her own pace. Secretly the boy admires her resilience. The chick may be kind of rude and bitchy at times (at least toward Soul) but she'd make a great 007 or assassin. Her lips are, almost literally, sealed.

After a while he commences rambling out loud. He's not sure if it's because he's unnerved by the silence or because he's not used to being ignored in this manner. Sure, sometimes he forgets his own existence at some of his parent's parties, but it's more like he's asked the same question over and over and it requires the same polite answers repeated time and time again.

"I'm talked to, but not really. If that makes sense? Anyways, I don't know. You can keep the cold shoulder thing you've got going on if you want to, but I'm tired of the silence. I'd rather talk to myself than be quiet for the next hour or however long it takes us to finish _this._ " He waves a hand at the food smeared windows and dirty floors, not noticing her focused gaze.

He starts sweeping and continues to babble.

"I was super surprised to find out you and Black Star were friends. You're so down to earth and he's so…I don't know. Up in space doesn't even _begin_ to cover where he's out what with his god complex. But he's cool, you know? He spouts 'minions' and 'followers' crap, but he's a real friend. He gave me a nickname and clothes even though he didn't know if I was cool or not or a rich asshat or whatever. He just…welcomed me with open arms."

He shoots three feet in the air when her calm, cheery voice floats across the space between them.

"Yeah…he's always been that way. His real name…well, he was named after his biological dad and it's not my place to say, but it was a bad time for him. He prefers Black Star and Sid and Mira respect it. I thought he was a weirdo at first. I was a mean, know-it-all sixth grader and I hated boys." She pauses and rubs a hand over her face as she groans not once noticing his wide-eyed stare.

"Well, I'm still not very fond of them but Black Star, Kilik, and the others help with that. Anywho, Black Star made me rethink a lot of things. He's honestly one of my best friends ever, even though he lives like, hours and hours away from me. We write throughout the year and try and meet up every now and then along with some other campers." The stick-thin blonde softly smiles, eyes downcast as she replays happy memories.

Soul's heart beats a little bit faster and he chalks it up to the scare from before. Not because the sun is shining and he can see streaks of silver in her hair and shiny flecks in her eyes. Not because she's finally speaking with him and her voice reminds him of piano keys lightly pressed in the darkness.

Oh gosh. He's going poetic. What the hell is happening?

He's not—no. No, he can't be.

Breathe, Soul.

"Yeah, everyone here is pretty cool. Except for you."

Maka snaps her head to glare at him, lips puckered in a pout.

"What?" He unapologetically grins. "You have no chill."

"I have chill!" She stomps a foot and he can easily picture her as a fuming cartoon character. "I'm super chill!"

Soul rolls red eyes and he's pleased to see she's distracted by his irises up close. Maka steps nearer and crosses her arms, her green eyes locked on to his mutated genes.

"Sure. You've got chill. That's why you instigated a fight on the first night with the newbie at camp over a muffin."

He can see her ready a retort, she's so close he can literally _see_ her building her words into an impenetrable speech behind her chrysanthemum lenses. But she stops and her chin dips a little.

"Yeah, well…I'm sorry. About that. That was…uncool. Like you said."

He doesn't know how to word. Never, ever did he expect an apology. Whenever the Muffin Battle was brought up Maka vehemently argued his fault and her innocence.

And here she is…sincerely apologizing? To him? Soul Eater? Soul Evans?

"Uh. It's alright. I mean, it was only a muffin?" He realizes he sounds idiotic when he adds a question mark, but Maka's slow burning smirk gives him hope for a friendship that didn't have a chance in Hell of succeeding.

They discuss family dynamics and he's more than a little scared of himself when he opens up and re-explains some of the stuff he babbled about earlier. She, in turn, shares some major personal things on her family: her parents are getting divorced because her father cheated multiple times with numerous women on her mother. It's made her very insecure around men.

"I think that's why I got so flustered and angry that first night. You were so close to me and I couldn't help feeling all weird and threatened. I kept thinking about my womanizing father and perverted men and I don't know. I guess I feel so insecure around males I just…overreacted." She admits. But with a mischievous gleam in her eye, she adds, "Though I _did_ grab the muffin first."

"Not that you needed it." Soul snarks. "What with your cankles."

The blonde adopts an expression of dismay and Soul hastily backtracks. "I'm kidding, Maka. I'm kidding! Your ankles and, uh, calves are perfectly fine. Really tiny actually." He chuckles lowly to himself as she cocks her head to the side like a small bird. "Bet I could wrap my entire hand around one of them."

"Bring it."

And that's how Soul ends up with his hand wrapped around the delicate bones of her left foot, her exhales tickling the back of his neck as she leans near where he's kneeled to see if, in fact, he is right.

It blossoms from there. Innocent and unsuspecting. They clean some and play Slap Attack, a game Maka insists she's a beast at, though more often than not she's smacked by Soul's larger, quicker pianist hands. They talk a lot. Sometimes they tread into deep, dark waters that the other is completely amazed they can share with an almost stranger and sometimes they poke fun at one another. Soul prefers infuriating her because she makes the most hilarious noises and puckered faces. He soon comes to learn that with pleasure comes a heavy dose of pain when the petite blonde smacks him upside the head with her Book of the Day. It stings like a muthafucker, but he somehow smiles through the pain.

They end up kneeling on the ground, facing one another, the cleaning duties forgotten. He's animatedly discussing how pointless house music is while she's defending it with her every breath and they're leaning in towards one another and he's losing track of the conversation cause this pretty girl is amazing and actually really cool and holy shit are they actually gonna-?

The doors to the Bloody Mess are thrown open and Soul and Maka hurriedly push themselves to their feet. Sid drags in a cursing Black Star, an excited Kid, and a few other campers.

"It's come to my attention, Soul and Maka," Sid's growl booms and echoes off the walls of the empty building, "that it wasn't just you two who started the food throwing. Kid has graciously gathered some volunteers who have admitted their offense and are here to help you finish the job." He appraises the scene and his eyebrows barely perk up, but Soul catches it. His heart thunders like Niagara Falls because he's positive the counselor can tell something other than wiping scrambled eggs off the wall was going down.

Maka throws him a beaming smile before she steps forward to negotiate and delegate cleaning up the Bloody Mess.

Weeks pass in a blur and he and Maka become increasingly closer throughout, despite the ongoing prank war fading in and out in the background. They learn each other's favorite sodas and ice creams and swear a vow that whoever is closer to the beginning of the snack bar line gets the other person their preferred edible item of the day. They fight, some days constantly, but the fights are always entertaining and usually ends in everyone, including them, laughing in tears.

The theme night of his best day at camp is the paint war, an elaborate game involving balls covered in paint and with rules that are mostly made up by the counselors on the spot. The trick and specialty of this theme night is that instead of cabin against cabin they are randomly assigned into larger teams. The Reapers and the Eaters happen to be paired up together.

He's dodging balls soaked in paint left and right when he sees Maka fixing to be pummeled by a flying yellow orb. Soul narrowly reaches her in time to shove her out of the way and the two find themselves surrounded.

"Back to back?"

"Yep."

They sidle next to one another and, as partners, annihilate an entire enemy team. Soul protects Maka and catches the paint balls, uncaring as his white t-shirt is splattered with a collage of puke green, piss yellow, and an actually decent color blue. As soon as a ball is in his possession he tosses it to Maka who whirls and strikes faster than a cobra. They are a perfect mixture of offense and defense and are recognized by their cabins as the victors of the night. Even Black Star steps off his pedestal long enough to congratulate their secondary prowess. Course they're nowhere near his level yet, but hey, they have some potential.

Their victory is short lived as Sid pulls them aside during dinner, reminding them they're still on his shit list for their hand in the food fight. Soul glances at Maka to see if she's as unnerved by his cussing as he is (like, is he allowed to say that to them?), but she is more concerned with pouting and pointing out the unfairness of _them_ being chosen for some wackadoodle personal job of Sid's.

"Well, if you two would calm down and _listen_ , you might consider this a blessing as much as it is a curse."

The two teenagers simultaneously peer at the other out of the corner of their eyes. Maka cocks a bony hip out haughtily while Soul smirks.

"We're listening."

"Now see Soul here happens to be one of the few campers with a driver's license, which, if I'm correct, you brought with you in your luggage, right, Evans?" Soul squints his eyebrows as his stomach churns exactly like it did his first day of camp. He's not sure he likes where this is going. He nods gingerly while Maka sprains her neck glancing back and forth between the counselor and the camper. It's obvious she's dying to ask him questions about the driver's license exam and does he have a car and all the most bizarre, nosy questions only Maka Albarn would think of.

"Alrighty then. As I thought." The tall man bends at the waist to lower his head closer to the teens as if he plans on whispering a secret. "Since today was such a good day the counselors and the camp director have decided to give you juveniles some ice cream as a surprise reward. Only we don't have any more ice cream located at camp, so the two of you will be going to retrieve said ice cream for us." He grabs Soul's hand and drops a crumpled piece of paper in it. "Here's the list and," He digs around in his back pocket before producing a shiny business credit card, "here's the card."

Maka's eyes look ready to pop out of her head. "Sid,…is this legal?"

The military man snorts and murmurs, "You're practically an honorary adult here at the camp, Maka. I have absolute faith you'll keep the delinquent in check and bring the vehicle back in an appropriate manner and with all it's proper, unharmed parts."

She gapes at him, pigtails drooping in the humid evening air when he adds, "Oh. And on the list is some stuff Mira needs for the infirmary. She assured me you would know what brands to get and where to find them. There's a local corner store right off the highway that should have enough ice cream and pharmaceutical products so you only have to stop once."

And with that he hands them the keys to the most poorly kept crossbreed of van/humvee Soul's ever seen.

Maka fumes while Soul can only repeat the words, "Oh my gosh…"

Sid walks away a hand thrown over his shoulder in a half wave.

"Good luck. Be back in an hour."

* * *

Maka is hyperventilating, hands twisting in her lap a testament to her self control (she recently threatened to choke him if he stopped the vehicle), as he slides the transmission into park. The van shudders like a chained beast. It slowly dies with melodramatic putters and squeals when the keys are removed. Soul lifts his head in the nervous girl's direction, her glare coming up short because of her fear.

"Soul." She tries to sound tough but ends up whiny and shaky. "Sid told us to be back in an hour! It already took us thirty minutes to get to the store and another fifteen to find all the supplies. We don't have _time_ for fast food! Plus, _this is Sid's car and he's vegetarian_."

His eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. "Sid's a veggie? Seriously? That's so freaky. He's like…thicker than a WWE wrestler. I think he and the Rock could go head to head."

"Yeah, maybe. But that's beside the point! The point is he'll kill us if we bring meat in his van and he'll kill us if we don't get back to camp when he said to!"

Soul shrugs, not at all concerned. "Come on, Albarn. Live a little." He ambles out of the car watching Maka watch him as he opens her door and offers a hand. "Plus, as you so eloquently mentioned, it took us thirty minutes to get up here and, despite you running around like a chicken with your head cut off in the store, we spent so long there that, even if we sped a little, we wouldn't make it in time. Hence," He gesticulates emphatically towards the precious neon signs promising ambrosia served on toasted sesame seed buns. "Death Burger!"

She eventually concedes but not graciously. She slaps his hand away with a pout and falls the impressive distance to the concrete pavement without any indication of pain from her rough landing. Maka recovers quickly and saunters towards the Death Burger.

Before Soul can wonder if she's forgotten about him, she glances over her shoulder and can't help a small grin from shining through her evil eye.

"You coming or what? I'm hungry."

Two deluxe burgers, a grilled chicken sandwich, two orders of curly fries, and a couple of strawberry milkshakes later has them seated in a booth in the back corner of the restaurant aimlessly chattering.

"Ten minutes, kay, Soul? We can't stay here forever."

"Yeah, yeah." He mumbles with a mouth full of curly fries. They eat in silence for a few minutes before his big mouth opens and let's slip words he never meant to say aloud. "Too bad, though." He freezes as soon as they blow out of his lips, praying to any deity in the universe she doesn't catch it.

But this is Maka he's talking about. Nosy, smart, ever-listening and analyzing Maka Albarn.

The girl in question perks up, her grilled chicken sandwich half munched on and balanced between her delicate hands. Her words are food muffled as well but he knows before she speaks what she's going to say. "What's too bad?"

He attempts composure. "Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just saying how nice it is to eat a Death Burger again."

She is unconvinced. "So…when you said 'too bad' you were referring to 'too bad I can't clog my arteries with greasy burgers for the rest of my shortened lifespan'?"

"Somethin' like that."

They eat in silence a couple of minutes. Soul is unfortunately extra aware of the porcelain doll-size, pigtailed bookworm with a vicious arm located across from him, her swinging legs accidentally brushing against his every now and then. His throat is lodged with what feels like the missing basketball from the courts when Maka hesitantly clears her throat.

"Soul, um, look I…I think it's too bad, too."

He is dead. Or dreaming. Or both. His eyes are bigger than glowing alien flying saucers, he is positive, when he meets her giant green eyes and blushing cheekbones.

Cheesy radio music plays in the background and one of the fry cooks yells, "Order up!" But they are standing still as time passes around them and he can't believe that he's found himself in this situation. Does he say something to her? _Should_ he or should he wait and see if she broadens her previous statement? Does this mean that the past couple of weeks have made an impact on her? Is she, maybe, feeling the same things he is?

Being sixteen and pining over the girl who orchestrated the bucket prank this morning (bucket of water drenched the Eaters when they exited the cabin) and who typically goes off on rants on how men are disgusting animals isn't the easiest.

She never opens her mouth again (except to continue eating) and he decides the smartest path is too keep quiet himself. Maka is more paranoid than a deer grazing as she finishes her sandwich and passes over the fries. He can tell from her jerky, rushed movements.

He wonders what thoughts are racing behind her grass green eyes when she pushes herself to her feet and practically jogs out the door. Soul follows, though more put off and therefore slower than the edgy Maka.

The drive back is almost unbearable. Soul wants to cry he's so messed up. How dumb is he to think that _the_ man-hating, independent work-for-everything-you-got Maka Albarn would ever fall for the rich Soul Evans who was fed with a silver spoon his whole life?

When they arrive at camp, they find the Bloody Mess deserted and the campgrounds pretty much dead. Even the cabins interspersed through the woods are dark and appear untouched. Maka and Soul trudge their way up to the counselors' building, nicknamed the Death Scythe (for whatever reason), and knock on the door. Sid answers with a stoic expression and dull voice.

"Oh. You two. I forgot I sent you to get things. Ah well. There was another outbreak between the boys and girls so every one in the camp was sent to bed early without ice cream. We'll save it for tomorrow I guess."

And with that he swipes the keys from Soul's outstretched palm and slams the linoleum door shut.

Together they canter back down the path to where it splits for the boys' and girls' side because who would want to walk solitarily through creepy, ominous woods with no sound or light. Soul tries his best to keep his eyes off of her, but has trouble with this endeavor. To be honest, he wants to say something but doesn't know to. Doesn't know what will make things better. Hey, let's just continue being friends and forget how we both said we wanted to stay at a burger joint alone together forever or hey I like you and let's make it during our next archery session?

Probably the best option is to not mention anything at all and crawl into bed to await the new day. He is actually thrilled it's lights out already. Then, no one will see his pained expression or pathetic tears over love lost and white-haired wealth freaks who never get the girl.

Just before he turns his feet on the path that heads towards Olympus and the Eaters cabin Maka grabs his elbow, her touch sending warmth to his stomach and skipping fireflies down his spin. He meets her eerily bright stare in the night and, though he can't quite make out her button nose or pink lips, he imagines what her face looks like.

They stand there awkwardly her hand viselike in her grip. He's getting frustrated because, seriously? If she's going to imply she feels similar to him and then ignore him for almost an hour, she really needs him to run away and lick his wounds.

He's about to say so when she approaches him and all air leaves his lungs. Her gentle pants rattle his heart and Soul's not sure he'll ever breathe right again when she starts to whisper.

Forget breathing. His heart will never have a regular tempo after this.

 _Meet me outside the Reapers cabin. Four hours._


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

* * *

He doesn't know what kind of rules he's breaking (who actually reads the handbook of a summer camp?) but he's pretty sure it's nine kinds of stupid. Punishment could range from Sid blasting him to outer space via the Blob or Blair, the hot cat-obsessed girl counselor, giving him a peek of his intestines once she slits him through and through with her hot pink acrylic nails.

One is more likely than the other since Blair, according to the Reaper girls, sleeps lighter than any one they've ever known.

But Soul feels it'd be stupider to disobey Maka or pass up a golden oppurtunity like this.

He's not sure what the dress code is for meeting your crush in the middle of the woods at 1 in the morning, but considering he tried to get some sleep he's shown up in his pajamas.

In retrospect, it isn't the safest attire for the outdoors since he already has a billion mosquito bites.

Soul waits patiently and, despite it feeling like ages and ages and like he'll be caught at any second, Maka doesn't let him wait long.

She shows up in pajama-y clothing as well so he doesn't seem so dorky anymore, though she chuckles at the design of his boxer shorts.

"Little bones? As in little boners?"

Thank goodness for the wilderness where the night time is actually so pitch black you can't catch the boy next to you blushing.

"Ha. Ha. You're hilarious. A true comedian. What are we doing out here anyways?"

Maka's voice drops an octave, a lowness that surprises him. Soul can hardly form the stuttered, shy syllables into words.

"I…wanted to show you something. Secret. A secret of the camp. At night. A night secret."

"Oh-kaaaay." His mind unhelpfully replays one of Kim's stories revolving the supposed curse on the camp and young lovers. The moon was full, the stars were shining, and instead of a romantic canoe trip the girl got possessed and slit the guy's throat before dumping him overboard.

The white-haired teen discreetly checks the moon phase as he follows his summer crush into the dark forest. He doesn't _truly_ believe Maka is the killer type (girl tears up when they swat sugar bees) but if she did get demonized by a murderous spirit she _would_ be one of the few people to get away with it.

Better be safe than sleeping with the fishes.

He panics slightly when she pulls something shadowy and shiny from behind her back.

"Maka, what-"

There's a click and his eyes are drowning in whiteness.

"Flashlight. Very helpful when walking in the dark."

Their early hike is freaking him out since Maka decides trails are for wimps and goes freelancing through the trees. The flashlight beam cuts like a hot knife through butter into the shadows, though he doesn't get much of the benefits. Because he's following behind her, he ends up attempting to memorize the floral and fauna, hoping and praying he doesn't accidentally brush against poison ivy or step on a snake.

If Maka is receptive to any type of "moves" tonight, he's pretty sure itching, crying, and screaming aren't any of them.

They've been walking for a solid ten to twelve minutes and he's sweating his balls off. Suddenly wearing his favorite pajamas doesn't seem so wise.

"So where is this mysterious night secret located?"

"We're close." Her answer calms his fears of getting lost in the woods until…"I think."

"You think?" He's a little embarrassed at the high pitch squeak in his usually manly voice.

"It's been a while since I've visited, alright? I'll find it though."

"Uh huh."

They walk another couple of minutes before she jerks to a stop and he collides into her, almost knocking her weightless body to the ground. She growls as he yelps and throws out a decently muscled arm to catch her.

Soul parts his lips to speak only to have Maka's drenched hand slapped painfully over his mouth. He attempts to pull her away by the wrist but she releases a paralyzing, frightened noise that absolutely shuts him up.

The two teenagers startle when they hear rustling to their right. Maka and Soul both lunge for the flashlight in her hand, but in their fear keep bumping hands and can't find the switch. In the end, they simultaneously cover the beam with their hands interlocking.

Never before has Soul felt so helpless. No one knows where they are or even _that they're missing_ and Maka might've taken them farther from the camp than she anticipated.

They are literally sitting ducks, at the mercy of whatever is tromping through the woods in their direction.

He's gonna die. He's going to die by Jason or Big Foot or holy hell, worst of all, _Dr. Stein._

The albino goes back to the piercing apathetic eye contact he and the doctor shared and the stitched menace that makes up his face. Soul shudders and huddles closer to Maka. Screw manliness. Of course, he'll protect Maka, cause she's awesome and beautiful and smells like oranges, but he'd be a liar if he said he didn't think Maka was the fiercer warrior.

The creaking of the trees in the wind and the cracking of leaves and twigs on the ground grows louder and as they struggle to find some type of hiding place.

"Over here!" Maka whisper-yells as she tries to dive for a small boulder.

"No! No! This way!" Soul leans the opposite direction. "That boulder can't even hide a toddler!"

"I could fit behind it!"

"Thank you for proving my point."

Maka huffs and he can _feel_ her scowl through the darkness.

"Maybe if you didn't go around eating muffins and breads you would be able to fit behind the conveniently placed, decently-sized boulder."

"First of all, I didn't even get to _eat_ the damn muffin. Second, did you seriously just call me fat? Like, is that really an appropriate comment right now?"

"Hush, Soul! It's coming!"

"Nah, Maka, that's not cool. We might _die_ here and your last words to me are 'you should consider cutting out carbs from your diet?' That's rough."

She continues to consistently tug him in the boulder area, whimpering as the sounds get closer.

"Come on, Soul! I didn't mean it like that!"

He scoffs. "Yeah, then how did you mean it?"

Maka stomps her foot, missing the ground and hitting his pinky toe instead, causing him to yelp like a wolf howling at the moon. In the quiet of the forest it's louder than thunder.

A large misshapen figure magically Apparates before them, a nightmare worse than He Who Shall Not Be Named. Maka and Soul scream while aligning themselves into a familiar back to back position, shoulders touching.

"What the _hell_ -?"

Soul cuts his scream off because oh dear Lord he recognizes that gruff bark. And, honestly, he's kind of wishing it's the Dark Lord instead.

Until the figure materializes into two distinct persons. One is a sleepy-eyed Sid and the other-

Is Mira Nygus. The lovely nurse practitioner.

Sid angrily switches his gaze from Maka wrapped tightly around Soul in his sweaty pajamas while Soul frantically tries to piece together what he's seeing. Mira and Sid. _Mira and Sid_. All alone. Out in the woods. Like him and Maka. Maka who he was trying to make moves on. Maka who secretly invited him into the middle of the woods for a secret meeting place (hopefully of the romantic variety).

 _Ohhhhhhh._

Maka has stopped squealing at this point and is increasingly becoming confused.

"Nurse Nygus? Sid? What are you two doing out here-?"

It's Soul's turn to cover the bookworm's mouth.

He and Sid lock eyes and it is the fastest, most impressive bout of internal telepathic conversation he's ever experienced.

Sid raises his left eyebrow a degree above the right. _What are you and Maka doing out here all alone in your pajamas?_

Soul copies the motion. _What are you and Nurse Nygus doing out here all alone?_

There's a pause in communication as Sid considers his options before the right corner of his lip twitches.

 _I'll let it pass if you get the hell out of here and I find you in your cabin in the morning._

 _Agreed._

Soul pulls the squirming Maka past Sid, who is also attempting to hush Mira, and they go about their separate ways, each pretending they never saw the others.

Though Soul's illicit partner isn't too good at understanding body language and unspoken communication.

Once they're far enough away for the treaty to be upheld Soul relents and allows her to remove his clammy palm away from her mouth.

"Soul! What was that for? And what just-?"

"Don't worry about it, Maka. Let's just…go to your secret night place and then trek back to camp."

"But what were Sid and Nurse Nygus out here for? And why were you guys staring so hardcore at each other?"

He gives her a pointed look. It's obvious from her dumbfounded expression she can't fathom what was happening so he whispers it in her ear. Because it's too gross for him to hear it or say it out in the open.

"Ohhhhh. _Ohhhh._ " Her nose crinkles adorably in the freed flashlight beam as her brain finally makes sense of it all. "Ew. Wow. That's a camp horror story not even Kim would think of."

It takes her a bit to gather her bearings, but eventually she's seventy percent positive they're close to her secret spot. Seventy percent isn't quite where Soul would like her estimation to be at, but he figures if something does go wrong adults aren't as far away as he originally assumed they'd be.

There's a break in the tree line and Maka ups her pace. Soul slacks a bit, catching his breath since they recently started going uphill, but pushes himself to follow her into the moonlight.

They're higher up than he thought they'd be, the lake shimmering several feet below them. It's beautiful, a bird's eye view of the campgrounds and the dock, the water stretching out to the horizon and rippling silver under the stars.

Maka takes a seat at an obviously previously placed lawn chair and offers him another that she seems to pull out of thin air. He settles in next to her and they both sigh as they rest their legs.

"Whoa. This is-"

"Amazing? Awesome? Breathtaking?"

"All of it." He exhales the phrase and it's the truest thing he thinks he's ever said.

They calmly and comfortably settle in, content in their companionship and the beauty before them. Soul thinks that if he could pick one moment to freeze time and remain in forever he'd be find with this place and with this girl not two feet to his left.

He's intrigued that Maka breaks the stillness before he can.

"Those…that wouldn't be the last thing I'd say."

"Hmm?"

The blonde shifts anxiously in her chair, the rugged fabric scraping against her sleep shorts. She turns so she's facing his way and, noticing this, he arranges his body in her direction.

"Telling you you're fat wouldn't be the last thing I'd say to you. _If_ we had died at the hands of a wolf or a bear or something else-"

"Dr. Stein." Soul shivers a bit. "Dr. Stein would kill us."

Maka gives him an are-you-serious glare. "Dr. Stein is a respectable physician and family friend. He just likes kids to be scared of him and Kim likes a good story. So do I, for that matter."

He doesn't answer because he feels both silly and patronized. He's looked at the man and his gray eyes felt like staring down Death. He'll just keep his distance, thank you very much.

"Anyways…what I meant was…if, if I had a chance, I'd tell you something I've kind of been brooding on for a while."

His interest is peaked. To the max. Her eyes flicker from the bright chrysanthemum green he loves to a darker, more profound olive as she twirls the flashlight, the beam lighting them up and then disappearing to shine some place else.

"What'd you say then?"

She won't look at him and he begins to rethink everything. Maybe she's not into him. Maybe this was just…an actual _friendly_ outing. A secret she thought she could platonically share with him. His hopes feel like his bones would if he jumped off the cliff to the rocky shoreline below.

And though it hurts, and though it'll probably hurt more by the time the night is done, he takes a chance and jumps anyways.

"I know what I would say."

Her lashes shimmer like starlight under the crescent moon as she peers through them to show she's listening.

"I'd…" Soul swallows the lump in his throat and ignores his brain screaming 'no,' preferring to listen to his heart thumping to the words 'yes, yes, yes.' "I'd tell you I liked you. And I think you're amazing. And you have a wicked arm with pretty green eyes and even though you're short you have a nice figure. I'd tell you to ignore when Star pokes fun at you or Liz tries to talk you into makeup 'cause you have that natural thing that draws people in, or draws me in at least. I'd say I like having you as a summer camp partner because we're pretty cool, but I think we're cooler when we're together."

Soul exhales, his whole body feeling lighter somehow even though he can feel every blood cell rushing through every crevice and vein in his body.

He tells himself to not wait for her to say anything because he doesn't think it's coming.

And it doesn't.

Instead her tiny, but firm hands grab his face so she can slam her lips against his.

It hurts at first 'cause holy hell the girl has no finesse, but after some maneuvering and laughing and lots of trial and error they get it just right in the moonlight.

* * *

Soul's legs are cramping like a bitch as he crouches uncomfortably in a tree, his long teenage limbs unsure how to fold themselves into the most convenient, balanced position. Black Star doesn't have the same issue because A) he's a present day ninja and B) he's significantly smaller than the red-eyed grumbler beside him.

"I don't see why you had to include me in your 'scouting'?"

Black Star removes his eyes from the binoculars long enough to cackle and shoot Soul a sharp-tooth grin. "Because you're my number one follower, Soul. And the best bro."

Soul mumbles his complaints but thanks Star for his belief.

"…Plus, Kilik is afraid of heights so he was out as soon as I said the word 'climb."

"You're a bitch."

The prank war only escalated the last few weeks of camp. Apparently Kid's theory of it lasting a week or two applied to normal mortals. Of which Maka and Black Star were not.

And the jokes were no longer funny.

Bugs in people's soups. Whipping creams and powdered sugar slathered in pillows (which, let Soul mention, is _not_ easy to wash out). And a terrible, _terrible_ maple syrup incident that still gives Soul nightmares of gooey, icky immobility.

But in an almost direct parallel to the escalating prank war was the escalation of Maka and Soul's relationship. Kisses were stolen whenever and wherever possible. Light hand touches during archery and brushing up against each other during water sports were just a few of the discreet ways they tried to be together.

Soul wanted to draw it all out into the open, sure everyone else would be happy for them. Maka claimed victory over the boys, a historical first for the girls, was more important and she'd be shunned if she were known to be fraternizing with the enemy.

So Soul was seated up in an unstable oak tree next to the leader of aforementioned enemy instead of making out with his newly acquired girlfriend.

Prank wars suck.

Apparently Black Star and some other guys were planning something big for the last theme night. Instead of a messy dirty battle like the previous theme nights were, the last is supposed to be a refreshing dinner and dance out on the dock so the campers and counselors can calmly enjoy their final night together and share their favorite memories of the summer.

Hence, Black Star staking out the dock in order to 'scout' and 'measure plans.'

"Oh ho ho. What have we got here?" The blue-haired boy bursts upright and pushes aside a couple of branches, somehow not drawing attention to the two teenagers perched in the tree.

Soul, who didn't know that summer camp involved the packing of binoculars, strains his vision as best he can.

"What? What is it?"

The ninja proudly shoves the binoculars onto his face, probably smashing or breaking Soul's nose in the process, and says, "Feast your eyes on that!"

Soul's eyes take a minute to adjust before he finally glimpses Kim and Jackie passionately macking on the edge of the dock. He pushes the binoculars away.

"Dude."

"What? Don't lie, it's sorta hot. As the Spanish say, _les bien_."

"…Okay, first of all, stop being all gross and perverted with the lesbian stuff. Second, I really, really need to make sure you know that 'lesbian' is not a Spanish word nor does it mean 'this is good' or 'hot' or whatever you think it means."

Black Star shrugs as if it doesn't matter and goes back to orchestrating his master plan.

* * *

The last day of camp is a harrowing time for Soul's poor nerves.

Not only is he unsure of where he and Maka stand once the summer is over but she refuses to heed his warning about Black Star.

"I'm telling you, Maka, this is getting serious. Just _stop_ the war! There's always next summer!"

She put on her signature scowl and vaporizing glare. "No. I won't. It's time us girls win for once. If we keep waiting 'til next summer and next summer and the summer after that, we won't ever win, will we?"

"Oh my gosh!" Soul throws his hands to the sky and wishes Scotty would beam him up to anywhere other than at this dumb camp with it's stubborn warrior campers. "Why is everyone so obsessed with winning a freaking prank war?" Maka steps away from him, haughtily, though he can see he's injured her pride a bit.

"Look, Maks. It's not that I think you girls can't win it's just…Black Star's pretty crazy. And he keeps going on and on about the 'prank to end all pranks.'"

"Well, can you give me a little insight?" She nudges him with her pointy elbow and a sly smirk. "Wanna be my duplicitous spy?"

As always, his beats per minute spike whenever she looks at him. Especially _that_ way.

"If only I could be. Star won't let slip _anything_. Not even Kilik or Harvar know what's happening at this point."

"Hmm. Then we'll stick with our plan and get him tomorrow."

And with that she pecked him on the cheek and jogged away, leaving Soul dreading whatever comes tonight.

The nice part about the dress-up night is that Soul actually _packed_ formal attire. It's his turn to help Star out as he just so happens to have an extra button-up shirt and pair of dark brown slacks. Harvar harbors a surprising talent of crocheting, sewing, and tailoring, so the fact that Soul is four inches taller than the muscled boy ends up not being a problem.

The dinner is well-prepared and delicious but all tastes like ash to Soul. People are dancing under the light of paper lanterns hung along the dock and Star is gone. You'd think it'd be difficult to lose track of a guy whose hair is dyed a blue so flashy you could spy it from space, but the kid is shockingly slippery and, when he's not being loud and obnoxious, can vanish into the background.

And currently he's assassin.

Through bribery and arm wrestling Soul has discovered that Black Star's main target is none other than Soul's recently acquired girlfriend.

Who is breathtakingly beautiful in a silver summer dress for the night.

He hates to ignore her, but he's too focused on locating Star to fawn over her gorgeousness. Soul wishes that Black Star would concede for the summer, if only so he can spend some quality romantic time with the precious girl who stole his heart this summer, but apparently "gods cannot be surpassed by mere mortals."

Eventually Soul tires of doing nothing but worrying and decides the safest, most convenient place for him to be…as at Maka's side. Black Star is aiming for her anyways, so he might as well enjoy himself while secretly protecting her.

So he asks her to dance.

Liz and Patti flutter their eyelashes while chorusing ooh la la's, Kim and Jackie wink in his direction, and Tsubaki squeals, alerting him to the irritating fact that they were aware the whole time. So much for secrecy.

And that's when Star decides to strike.

They're slow dancing and exchanging warm glances and Maka is implying maybe they'll figure out a way to stay together and pen pal when he sees it. A pinprick of blue approaching from his right.

"Oh, Christ."

He _just_ wants to spend his last night peacefully with his girlfriend and continue talking in sweet nothings or how they'll keep the flame alive when they live five hours apart.

But noooo. Instead he has to stop his psychotic best friend from ruining his girlfriend's last night at the DWMA.

Soul whips around and attempts to grab Black Star by the collar. Unfortunately, Star's always been faster than the lanky Soul so he misses. The assassin ducks under his arm and lunges for Maka, a cylindrical object pointed at her pristinely made-up face.

The white-haired teen closes his eyes, preparing for the worst, and then…it happens.

 _EEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHH_

His ears ringing, Soul finds in Star's hand, a small bull horn.

Maka is wide-eyed with her palms pressed tightly against her ears to protect her eardrums from breaking under the loud echo.

Star is laughing harder than Soul's ever seen, bull horn resting in his folded arms holding onto his probably aching stomach.

"Oh. My. Gosh." Each word separated by heaving breaths. "You. Should. Have. Seen. Your. Face!"

Soul yells his words though he's not sure if it's because his ears are permanently damaged and doomed to feel like a cotton ball is stuck inside or if he's seriously _that_ furious.

" _That_ was your masterplan? You. Dumb. Ass. A bull horn? A BULL HORN? What's so fantastic about a bull horn?"

Black Star is now laughing so hard he's hardly making a sound except for the occasional wheeze when his lungs demand air. Glistening tears pool under his tightly shut eyes eventually streaming down his tan cheeks.

His joy is fuel for Soul's fire.

"YOU MADE ME SIT IN A TREE FOR AN _HOUR_ WHILE YOU PLANNED EVERYTHING OUT! BLOWING A _BULL HORN_ IN SOMEONE'S FACE DOES NOT REQUIRE AN HOUR OF PLANNING AND A SCOUTING OF THE AREA!"

In the end, the Prank War of the summer awarded victory to the girls after they somehow duct-taped the boys inside their cabin and threw shaving cream cans with holes in them via the windows at five in the morning. It took the teenage males a full three hours to clean up the mess before Sid found out and another whole eighty minutes to figure out how to exit the cabin.

Soul vows he will never instigate nor participate in another Prank War again.

Ever.

His skin still feels funny and slimy when Wes arrives to pick him up. Maka and him are nestled on a bench near the soccer fields which have resumed their make-shift parking lot status.

"That's my ride."

Maka appraises his equally lanky, pale-haired brother and waves when he honks emphatically at the sight of his younger brother intertwined with a girl. It even looks like he's bouncing up and down in his seat. She giggles at his enthusiasm.

"Bet you get interviewed the entire ride home, huh?"

Soul sighs. "Probably. What a dumbass." He smiles down at the girl comfortably reclining against his arm and gently kisses up her neck before reaching her lips.

"I'll miss you, ya know. And I get my car soon so…"

Maka returns his fervor with a passionate smile of her own. "So we'll see each other soon! Though you have to promise to still like me after meeting my Papa."

He chuckles, but inwardly cringes. Soul has heard many stories about Spirit, Maka's old man. None of them good. Black Star says he ought to wear a cup when he meets him. Just in case.

"Promise."

He gives himself a moment to recall the entirety of his summer and thinks that he might've made the right choice after all. He takes in the campgrounds that seemed so foreign his first day but that feel more like home than any mansion or indoor music program ever will. Soul basks in the warmth of the girl leaning her head on his shoulder and remembers how ready they were to tear each other's throats out over a freakin' blueberry muffin.

Eventually he rises and takes a step towards the car, his eyes taking in everything around him so he can commit to memory. They settle on the cheery banner labeling the camp as the DWMA and the infirmary up the hill with Marie, the senior counselor, Mira, the sweet nurse, and Dr. Stein, a real life horror story. They take a mental picture of his fellow campers waving goodbye with bright smiles already wishing for next summer.

And they land on Maka who merely blows him a light kiss and a pretty smile.

When Soul gets into the passenger seat, it feels like a million years have passed since he sat here begging to go home. Now he'd give anything to stay.

"Soooooo," Wes trills. "Have a good summer?"

 _You have no idea._


End file.
